Walking to the mirror, someone is seen staring back. Those features are familiar, but the recognition cannot be built into an experience to be had, or a static sheet of info for later reference. It is a unique being that stares back. It is always new, and always surprising.

It is approaching a roaring fire.

As you near the flames, you feel the reaction of every cell in your body, moving in sync with the fire. This movement of fire, the aliveness of the flames, the symphony of the conflagration, is everything it means to be a human being. White hot at its source, it moves with great energy, until the diffusion kills the entirety of what once was. It is the movement of life.

It is the feel of the wind on one's face.

Feel how it tickles the hair on the back of your neck; how it caresses your face and loves only you. You cannot hold it, imprison it, beguile it, delude it, or deceive it. The breeze moves and moves. You are this wind, and let nothing stick to you.

It is the shattering sound of thunder.

The body winces at the sound. But there is no gap for thought to arise. It cannot tell you to be annoyed. It cannot tell you how you should react. It may try to do so, but there is no one able to respond. The sound may arise. Thought may arise. But for whom do they arise?

It is the flower that blooms on the branch of a tree.

Appearing from seemingly nowhere, the bud slowly pushes its way outward, lifeward. It blooms only for you, giving itself completely at every possible moment, in every possible condition. It is this way, and this way alone. This selfless giving is complete living.

It is the life that has ended, and the body that rots.

Even in death, the body keeps giving, breaking down into useful materials for other organisms. It gives itself over freely, selflessly. This may be the only time in the life of the organism where there is no thought of getting something in return. It gives and gives, until there is nothing left to give.